The Last Supper
by SilverMooonshine
Summary: "It felt to her like the world was drowning, slowly but surely having its life sucked out of it. Which, in a way, it was. Her world as she knew it would die tonight and there was no way to save it. Worse still, she would be the one to kill it." Written for round 4 of the Quidditch League Competition.


**Disclaimer: I own nothing. At all.**

**Written for the Quidditch League for the Holyhead Harpies, Chaser 2, using prompts :  
1)(song) "Wagon Wheel" by Darius Rucker  
9)(quote) "Your words create what you speak about. Learn to speak positively." Sanya Roman  
14)(word) swollen**

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Rain lashed against the windows, pounding its furious fists against the glass ruthlessly, endlessly. It felt to her like the world was drowning, slowly but surely having its life sucked out of it. Which, in a way, it was. Her world as she knew it would die tonight and there was no way to save it. Worse still, she would be the one to kill it.

Of course she knew that sacrifices would have to be made; it was a hazard of being best friends with Harry Potter. Merlin's beard, he'd been willing to sacrifice his life more times than she knew and never thought twice about it. What she was going to do tonight wasn't nearly as brave as that, she told herself. It wasn't like her actions were going to put herself or anyone else in danger, the opposite in fact. She was doing this to keep them _safe_. Why was that so difficult?

They deserved more than anything to be safe. Her darling parents. She was in their room now, waiting for them to return home from work. The tears she had tried fiercely to hold back began to flow as she pressed her mother's blouse to her face, inhaling the scent that had comforted her since she was a child, a naïve child filled with the belief that good would always conquer bad. The past year had taught her that was far from the truth. The fairy tales and stories are all lies.

The soft silkiness of the fabric soaked up her tears, turning the soft pink to blood red. This was the blouse that her mother had brought specially for the first trip to King's Cross, to wave her daughter off to Hogwarts, a place that would change her life forever. They had been so proud of her, so excited for her future. A future they would now never know. They wouldn't be a part of her future, wouldn't even recall her past. It would be like she'd never even existed. How could they have known that as well as a blessing, it would be her magic that would destroy their family?

It seemed so unfair; she had not asked to be part of this war. Yet here she was, sucked in, having to rob her parents of their only child, of their lives as they knew it in order to stop them being tortured and having their lives taken away all together. She wondered if what she was doing was the more merciful option. Who was she kidding? There was no mercy in this world any more, no merciful way to protect the people who had given her life. In war, there was only a spectrum of cruelty; where no matter what you did people would hurt.

She heard the lock click downstairs. She rubbed quickly at her red, swollen eyes, trying desperately to erase the evidence of her tears. She would not have this night ruined, it would be her final memory of them and she was determined to make it a good one.

"Hermione? Hermione, darling? Are you home?" Her father's gentle voice called up the stairs, sounding weary from his long day at work. How she wished she could capture his voice somehow, to have it to reassure her in times of need, like it always had before. It was that voice that had taught her so many great things, magic far beyond what she learnt at school. The magic of being kind and accepting, of making the best of things even when life seemed impossible.

Her mind flicked back to a warm summer's day, and one phrase in particular that he had said to her as they watched two women argue across the road. "Your words create what you speak about. Learn to speak positively." Although she couldn't remember who the quote had been said by, the words had stuck with her. She decided that's what she would do tonight, speak positively. Even if they would not remember this night, she wanted it to be perfect.

"I'm just coming!" she shouted back, trying to conceal the edge to her voice. She hurriedly replaced the blouse on its hanger, and ran down the stairs. Throwing her arms around her father, she breathed deeply, trying to imprint on her memory his unique smell, a mixture of the bleach they used at the dental surgery and the strong mints he ate, with just a hint of the lavender detergent her mother used to wash his shirts. He smiled down at her, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Come on sweep pea, your mum's made fish pie for dinner. Your favourite." He winked and led her to the kitchen where her mother was retrieving a golden pie from the oven. It was made by a family recipe, passed down through generations from mother to daughter on their eighteenth birthday. Another tidal wave of sadness hit Hermione as she realised that it would not be passed onto her. Another dying tradition. They sat down, like this was just a normal evening, like nothing was ever going to change. Slowly she could feel her heart being torn into million pieces.

The rest of the meal passed by in a blur of chatter and laughter, discussing their work, the news, anything and everything that came to mind. When they had finished and cleared up, sharing the jobs of washing and drying up as they always did, they headed into the living room and settled down on the old, threadbare sofa. Looking around, Hermione's life played out before her eyes, a million memories of this house, her family and all that she loved in mere seconds. She could hold it in no longer. Sobs racked through her body, making her shake. She felt a pair of arms wrap around her, stroking her hair and whispering into her ear, warm breath ghosting across her skin. Her mother rocked her, like the south bound train on the way home from Hogwarts, comforting and sad at the same time. Reluctantly, she disentangled herself from the warm embrace and stood, a sense of cold emptiness settling over her.

Before her parents could say a word, she told them she was okay, and that she just had to go and get something. Running upstairs, she grabbed her beaded bag she'd had ready for weeks. She pocketed her wand, slipped on her shoes and coat and crept back downstairs. On an afterthought she quickly ran to the kitchen, retrieving the family recipe from behind the clock where her mother kept it. She cast a protective charm over it and put it inside the cover of _Hogwarts: A History_ in her bag. She silently promised herself that if she made it through this war and had a daughter, she would pass on the recipe like she was supposed to. A tiny fragment of her old life to take with her.

Standing in the doorway of the living room, she gazed at her parents one last time. As quietly as she could, she took out her wand.

"Obliviate."

She watched as her face disappeared from the photos around the room, her certificates and drawings from the walls. She turned slowly, turned from her parents, her childhood, her life of safety, and stepped out into the rain.

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**A/N So that was a lot different to anything I've published before, but I think it turned okay considering. Blame TFIOS for putting me in a such a depressing mood that this is what I ended up writing! Let me know what you think in the reviews :)**


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